Snap
by Alice of the Ashes
Summary: All it took was a snap of his fingers, and they were undone. Spoilers for Infinity War.
1. The End of the Line

A/N: Saw Infinity Wars and it broke my heart. Felt inspired to write some short drabbles for some of the remaining Avengers.

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Bucky was gone. Steve knew there was more he should be concerned with, like the chaos caused by half the population disappearing. But only the one thought rattled in his brain as he sat on the jungle floor, pawing uselessly at Bucky's ashes, Natasha hovering at his shoulder.

Bucky was gone. Almost as soon as Steve had reunited with him again. The last thing he'd said had been Steve's name. Steve lifted his trembling hand from Bucky's ashes to press it uselessly against his chest, like an old woman, smearing the silver star on his uniform with chalky brown-black.

It had been a fitting end for a solider. Going out fighting the enemy. He'd lost Bucky to war before. Both times, he had not had the time to say goodbye. There was something oddly poetic about it.

It took Natasha grabbing Steve by the shoulder and shaking him, demanding he get up, saying that they needed to move _now_ , for him to realize Sam was dead too.


	2. Nothing Left to Lose

Thor should have killed Thanos. He had been trained extensively in combat, he knew how to land fatal blows. He should have known to go for the head. He had been too exhausted, physically, mentally. He'd failed, and the universe had payed dearly for his lapse.

What was he? A king without a kingdom. A brother without a brother. He had nothing. He was nothing, except the man who let Thanos destroy half of all life.

He hadn't had time to process all that had happened. Thanos had moved so fast. But as he collapsed against a tree, the wailing of the Wakandans rising to a hoarse roar that he could hear miles away, he closed his eyes and saw Loki's pale and lifeless face on the backs of his eyelids. For all of the times Loki had tried to kill Thor or put his own selfish needs about what was right, he had died trying to save Thor, trying to be good. A dark corner of Thor's mind wondered if the world wouldn't be a little safer for it.

Thor saw Asgard going up in flames, burned to ash. He saw his people obliterated in the ship's explosion.

He saw Odin blowing away on the wind.

The full weight of his grief loomed, threatening to crush him. He wished, belatedly, that the power of the star in Nidavellir had killed him. It would have made no difference.


	3. Hopeless

A/N: I felt like Tony was in arguably the worst position at the end of Infinity War.

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Hopelessness was a feeling Tony was familiar with, as much as he might deny it to anyone who asked. He'd experienced his handful of hopeless situations. Being held captive by terrorists in a desert cave. The panic attacks that plagued him after being sucked through that weird portal when Loki was attacking New York. Basically any time he was in a combat situation without his suit. Take your pick.

He'd always pulled through, in the end. Both in his own battles with bad guys and when the Avengers came together as a team to save the world. There were bumps and bruises, a handful of heated arguments, some loss of civilian life. But they had always come out on top relatively unscathed, all considered.

Not this time.

Tony had lost. The team had lost. The entire damn universe had lost. Completely, utterly. They'd come close, so close he could taste it, the gauntlet sliding off of Thanos's arm. And then things had gone FUBAR when that idiot Starlord couldn't keep himself together for just another minute.

Could Tony have kept it together, finding out that Pepper had been killed by the guy standing before him? He didn't know, didn't care to dwell on it. It was so much easier to just blame that immature moron.

And Strange. Oh, he'd talked tough before they landed on that godforsaken wasteland of a planet, warned them that he would let them all die if it meant guarding the time stone. And then Mr. Cape had handed it over to Thanos as soon as things got a little hairy. Tony had hardly had time to inform Strange of just how stupid he was before it became quite clear that Thanos had taken Vision's soul gem, and completed his gauntlet. He'd won.

It happened in moments. Starlord's weird friends turned to dust, then the man himself. Then he'd held the kid, Peter, who should have been safe and sound on Earth instead of on some decomposing corpse of a planet, gasping and begging not to die as his body blew away on the breeze. Pieces of Peter were still clinging to his blood-sticky fingers. Strange had gone without much fuss, muttering some cryptic bullshit about it being "the only way." All gone except for him and that weird bald mixture of alien and metal that stood off to the side, staring at him with her soulless eyes.

Tony couldn't stay mad, not really. It would be easier to be mad. Anger would distract him from the pain stabbing through his side and the grief beating at his chest. But he couldn't be mad. They'd paid the ultimate price. They were dead. More than dead. Gone, with no bodies left behind to bury and mourn over. Presumably, so was half of the galaxy's population. Odds were, more of the team was gone too. Hell, Pepper might have turned into a pile of dust as well, he had no idea.

He had no way to get back to find out. The ship was destroyed. His suit was a wreck. No one knew where he was. The creepy metal woman was equally as likely to cut his throat as figure out some way to get off the planet. And if she did, she wouldn't want to go back to earth. With his suit destroyed and his body on the verge of collapse, what could he do to force her to? There was nothing he could bribe her with, no threats he could make.

Tony bit back a groan of pain as he lowered himself to sit on the ground. The wind whipped grains of dirt into his eyes and the sensitive cuts on his face. The wound in his side was no longer leaking blood onto his clothes, but he was surely still bleeding internally. There was no game plan, there was no rebound, there was no rescue. Hopeless.

The wind howled around the empty planet. Tony began to weep.


	4. Red in the Ledger

A/N: This one turned out a little longer as well. Generally these will be a little shorter.

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Natasha had witnessed and dealt her share of grim shit. She'd stood by while her fellow "ballerinas" were made an example of. She'd carried out assassinations on people that she knew didn't deserve death. She had blood on her hands, red in her ledger. She could spend a lifetime trying to make up for the evil she had facilitated or directly caused. Was determined to, in fact. Of the entire little motley crew of the Avengers, she felt the most out of place. Everyone had skeletons in their closets, of course, but not all had slit someone's carotid while the wife and child slept the next room over. At least Barnes had an excuse – his brain had been scrambled by octopus-loving Nazis.

Soon after joining up with the other Avengers to keep Thor's greasy brother from enslaving humanity, Natasha had made a promise to herself. She promised that if a bullet came for one of her friends, she would throw herself in front of it if she had to. Their lives were worth more than hers. Her debt wouldn't be repaid until she placed her life on the scale, too.

She wasn't suicidal. Far from it. Suicide would relieve her of responsibility, erase the whole point. But she knew she was the most tainted, the least _good_. If it came down to someone dying, best it be her. Rather her than wise-yet-naïve Rodgers, so goodhearted and optimistic he sometimes gave her a toothache. Or Stark, who kept their whole enterprise afloat with his endless flow of cash and surprising aptitude for leadership. Or Banner, someone capable of so much good if he could pull his dual identities into a unified whole, if he could work with Hulk. Or the spider kid, so young and innocent to be pulled into this mess of a hero life.

Unbeknownst to the others, she had decided she would be the sacrificial lamb in a time of crisis. It was better that way.

Which was why she could only stand, stunned, as one by one her companions dissolved into clouds of dust that blew away on the wind. Barnes, T'Challa, Sam, Wanda. All while she could do jack shit to help them. There was no bullet or energy beam or toothy monster to dive in front of. No bomb that someone needed to stay behind to diffuse. Just random chance, choosing people who didn't deserve to die. Leaving her. The liar, the sneak, the murderer, the thief.

Natasha struggled to breathe. She felt like someone was sitting on her chest. She dimly recognized that she might be having a panic attack. What about Clint? Tony? Half of all life in the universe was gone. 50%. And the powers that be had chosen to leave her alive. Not good men who served their countries honorably, or the twin that had seen both her brother and her lover die. Her.

Natasha's eyes found Steve. Good, selfless, loyal Steve, kneeling near a pile of dark dust that she knew had been Bucky. He clawed at the ground uselessly, like he could mold the Winter Soldier back together. Tears welled and wet her cheeks. She knew how much Bucky had meant to him. She knew how much this entire loss meant to him. It would break him.

Natasha stumbled toward him. She grabbed his shoulder, half to keep from falling herself, and croaked, "We have to go, now. We need to contact Fury. He'll know what to do. That bastard is still alive, we can get him for this." The face Steve turned up to her was a flat wall of shock and grief. Her vision blurred briefly and rage crackled through her exhausted muscles like electricity.

If the universe had left her to carry out retribution for Thanos's atrocity, she would gladly do it. At this point, what was a little more red in her ledger?


	5. Wakanda Forever

A/N: Sorry for the wait, I've had a lot of deadlines and projects lately. I wasn't super confident in my ability to capture this character well, so hopefully I've done an acceptable job. It's short but it's sweet (I hope).

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The outside world had brought them nothing but suffering. It had corrupted N'Jobu, leading to his betrayal of Wakanda and the responsibilities and expectations of royalty. Leading to the conception of Killmonger. It had taken T'Chaka from them, from T'Challa. It's problems and woes poisoned men against each other. It sent men like Agent Ross to poke and prod and spy, trying to use Wakanda. Trying to _conquer_ it. It broke soldiers like Barnes and spat them out when it was done with them, leaving them with mind and body broken. It sent good and well-meaning people, people like Rogers and Romanov and Banner, who tried to brought a galactic army to Wakanda's gates. It took their king from them, again, so soon after they had thought him lost to Killmonger. The outside killed T'Challa.

Nakia saw this clearly as she knelt by where T'Challa had last stood. Opening up to the outside had been a mistake. It had been a mistake and it would bleed Wakanda dry. Not now, they would survive this blow, Shuri would take the throne and she would do well. She would not be alone, she would have counsel. They would weather this tragedy, heal from it, and move on.

But the outside had its claws in Wakanda now, it had its foot in the door, it had its heroes ready to turn to Wakanda for help the next time a city or country or planet was threatened. And it would keep taking until there was nothing left of Wakanda to take.

A single tear rolled down Nakia's cheek, and it was not only for T'Challa.


	6. What If

A/N: Heyyy this fic is still alive.

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Bruce prided himself on being a pretty sharp guy. It was one of the few things he _could_ pride himself on. His struggle with his angry green passenger had cost him dearly. His career, his home, his safety, the love of his life. But he still had his intellect, still had that razor-sharp mind. The problem with a sharp mind, though, is that it can be difficult to control.

So despite knowing better, despite knowing that no good would come of it, Bruce couldn't stop churning through an endless list of what-ifs.

What if Hulk, Loki, Heimdall, and Thor had been able to work together more efficiently, tackle Thanos at once? Perhaps they could have overpowered him with their combined strength. It was that first sloppy attack that had sent Hulk cowering like a frightened dog deep into the recesses of Bruce's brain. Had ended in Thor's brother and people slaughtered before his eyes.

What if Hulk had been just a little bit braver? Could the battle have been turned in their favor with his assistance? The borrowed Hulkbuster suit was appreciated, but was far from ideal.

What if Hulk had been able to distract Thanos so Thor could land a fatal blow?

What if Peter Quill had kept his head? What if Thanos's daughter had been rescued in time? What if they had hidden Vision better?

What if, what if, what if.

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Bruce didn't stick around for long after the battle, after half of what he had come to think of as his family turned to ash. To be in the backseat while Hulk took the wheel for years, to be gone for so long, and then return to this unbearable loss was too much. He slipped away while Natasha tended to Steve. Where to, he didn't know. Stark Tower was out of the question. He needed to escape. Back on earth after years on an alien planet, and he already needed to escape. Maybe somewhere in the Philippines.

They would look for him, of course. They would be worried. And they would want his help as they tried to figure out some sort of fix, some sort of solution. But there wasn't one, not to something like this. It was better this way, to peacefully slip off unnoticed. To leave while he could.

What if he knew the other guy wouldn't spit the bullet out?


	7. 89P13

A/N: You thought this fic was dead. You were wrong.

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Only Gamora's bitch sister and the billionaire with the metal suit had returned from Titan. Rocket had never gotten along with the robot all that well when he had been trying, and with Gamora gone he had no incentive to try anymore. He got the impression Nebula felt the same. He also got the impression that the few survivors of Thanos's rampage wanted him to stick around and help them pick up the broken pieces of the universe. He didn't dawdle long enough for them to officially ask.

Ironic. For all of Rocket's self-pity about his short lifespan, for all of the time he had spent mentally preparing himself to get cataracts and arthritis and grey hairs while the others were still in their prime, he was left the only one alive of their little team. It was funny, in a cruel sort of way.

A waste, to be honest. If Fate had any sense of decency, she'd have dusted him in place of Groot, or Quill, or that African prince/king/whatever, hell anyone. He was just a petty criminal, after all, an animal that had a knack for electronics due to some scientists digging around in his brains. An experiment. A happy accident. These people were heroes, leaders, they had people looking up to them and depending on them.

And Groot, to lose his life again, so soon after he cheated death the first time. Groot had been something for Rocket to cling to, something for him to look after and protect, to keep him grounded. Groot had kept Rocket sane, Groot accepted and stood by Rocket before anyone else did. It tore Rocket apart when he thought about it, so he tried not to. He was mostly successful.

You might have thought that Rocket would have tried to make something of himself, stick to the straight and narrow to honor the fallen, take up the mantle. You would be wrong. Rocket had never been good at healthy coping. Denial, all the way.

He figured he only had to deal with the grief and loss for a few more years anyway, if the worsening alcoholism and natural hazards of being a goon for hire didn't get him first. Turns out being a freelance thief in a galaxy with half the population wasn't any harder than before Thanos had committed mass genocide. Who would've thunk.


End file.
